


Alligatum

by DragonGirl87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Being Supportive, Coping, DMLE Head Harry Potter, Established Relationship, Fear, Fluff, Head Auror Harry Potter, Humour, Love, M/M, Married Life, Romance, Sass, Virus, lockdown - Freeform, outbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl87/pseuds/DragonGirl87
Summary: London is under lockdown and Draco Malfoy is going stir-crazy. Can Harry help his husband?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 167





	Alligatum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoffeeBean13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeBean13/gifts).



> **alligatum** is Latin and means: "to bind, hinder, impede, detain".
> 
>  _Frumoasă mea, te iubesc._  
>  One day, my love, I will write you a whole essay in Romanian, but for now this will have to do. I would, however, like to tell you this: _Mă faci fericită. Ești dragostea vieții mele._

* * *

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed when he stepped into his and Draco’s bedroom was his MacBook, and his smartphone. Both lay abandoned and with their screens still lid in the centre of the bed. Next to them, the morning edition of the Prophet and this afternoon’s special edition with additional updates on the current situation in London.

Fastening his towel properly around his waist, Harry extended his hand to summon his glasses, which he’d placed on top of the cupboard next to the sink in the en-suite bathroom before his shower. He pushed the round black steel-framed spectacles onto his nose and blinked once or twice. His eyes adjusted and the hazy blur, with which he perceived the world whenever he wasn’t wearing his specs, disappeared. He crossed the room and leaning forward, Harry placed his right hand flat on the bed to support himself.

A quick glance at the papers, his phone and his notebook, told Harry everything he needed to know. Namely, that Draco hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of checking the latest news, even though he’d explicitly, and for Draco’s own good, told him to stay away from reading those toxic reports.

 _Should’ve put those into the safe too_ , Harry thought to himself, somewhat regretting allowing Draco to snoop and acquire information that was doing more harm than good to his mental wellbeing. Harry swallowed the sigh that was on the verge of escaping him and straightening up, he pulled the towel off his hips and ditching it on the bed, he made his way into his and Draco’s dressing room.

Less than two minutes later he was fully dressed, wearing a pair of neat-fitting black jeans and a loose Slytherin-green hoodie ― despite his position within the ministry and the severity of the situation in London, he had no plans of leaving the house today. He didn’t bother with socks or shoes and leaving his MacBook and phone be, he left the bedroom and headed downstairs.

“Draco?”

He called out but received no answer.

“Draco?”

Harry tried again but still didn’t get a response.

Pressing his lips tightly together, Harry forced himself to take a deep breath. _Damage control_ , he reminded himself firmly, then huffed out a hollow laugh. As Director of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, he had more than enough experience in that particular area, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether those skills were good enough to talk Draco off a ledge.

Draco wasn’t like everyone else; he saw through most people’s charades and most definitely didn’t respond well to having dust thrown into his eyes ― Slytherin’s were highly allergic to that sort of treatment.

Harry had learnt that very lesson the hard way, and in the ten years he and Draco had been married, he’d never once tried to pull a fast one on his husband, it simply wasn’t worth it.

While Harry prided himself on the fact that he possessed a certain level of Slytherin cunningness, and regularly made use of it too, he also knew that he was no match for Draco, at least not when it came to being artfully sly. Draco’s mind operated within an entirely different set of parameters; parameters Harry had never once tried to compete with. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t need to. He had other ways and means of getting through to Draco; methods that worked ― usually anyway.

Then again, current circumstances were vastly different from anything he or Draco had ever experienced. Their present situation was one Harry still struggled to wrap his head around, or even make sense of, and he knew that if he had no way of understanding it fully, Draco was finding it a million times harder to cope.

London was under a government-imposed lockdown with all six of the city’s major airports, and all ten of the capital’s major train stations closed. In addition to that, the London Underground and all other forms of public transport had temporarily been taken out of service. The police had put up barricades on any roads in and out of the city and as of yesterday morning, all bridges across the River Thames were closed off to the public.

It was a novelty as much as a terrifying nightmare.

On top of that, and in a bit to comply with Britain’s emergency response plan, the Ministry for Magic had issued a city-wide ban on Floo travel and put strict anti-apparition wards into place. The new sanctions also included the prohibition of the use of brooms and portkeys, and Harry had been forced to put together a special task force, led by two of his most veteran Aurors, solely assigned to ensuring that all wizards and witches currently residing in or visiting London complied with the new, but hopefully temporary, laws.

All these measures had been put into place to somehow try and curb and control the outbreak of a deadly pneumonia-causing virus that was currently sweeping through the city, resulting in the overcrowding of London’s hospitals and clinics. While Muggle scientists were still fervently working on developing a vaccine to cure any Muggles infected with the disease, the Healers at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries were doing the same, and had, much to the magical community’s horror, discovered that no existing healing potions and spells had any effect on the mysterious virus.

It was highly contagious, and without the availability of an effective remedy, the Ministry wasn’t taking any chances whatsoever.

Hermione, who had taken over as the new Minister for Magic less than a year ago, was doing everything in her power to ensure the health and safety of Britain’s wizards and witches, especially after it had become apparent that the virus attacked those with magical cores more viciously, leading to a much higher mortality rate.

As Head of the DMLE, Harry was exempt from the city-wide ban on wizarding means of transportation. He’d spoken to Hermione only yesterday, and while she’d made it blatantly obvious that she thought some of the British Prime Minister’s measures were far too extreme, her hands were literally tied. She had no option but to comply with any and all orders the Muggle government had issued so far.

Harry forced himself to snap out of the madness dancing around his own head and inhaling deeply, he held his breath for a few seconds, then exhaled slowly. Having reached the ground floor, he made his way into the living room, following the sound of the blaring television.

He found Draco nervously pacing up and down in front of the large flatscreen. His silvery-grey eyes were firmly glued to the television, and he was repeatedly clasping and squeezing his hands.

Harry didn’t even hesitate. He resolutely straightened himself up, squared his shoulders, and stepping into the room, he grabbed the remote control from the coffee table in front of the sofa and pointing it at the television, he switched it off, then carelessly tossed the remote onto the couch.

“Hey!”

Draco objected instantly.

“I was watching that.”

Harry smiled.

“With the emphasis on _was_ ,” he said, “you aren’t watching it anymore.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at him and crossed his arms over his chest, looking positively defiant.

Harry chuckled softly under his breath.

 _You don’t scare me, my dragon_ , he thought, _you never have and you never will_.

“And who made you the boss?”

Draco’s bored drawl was nothing more than carefully constructed pretence. It was an act he put on, a mask he hid behind, a protective and defensive wall.

Even after all this time, it was a natural reaction; it was Draco’s way of preserving himself.

He was loath to show any sort of weakness, and although Harry could see right through Draco’s self-deception, in the fifteen years that he and Draco had been an item, he’d never once tried to fundamentally change Draco.

It was entirely impossible, anyway.

Draco was Draco, and one either accepted him the way he was and loved him with all his flaws―though he always vehemently denied that he had any―or one didn’t love him at all.

There was no middle ground, it was either this or that, and Harry was perfectly fine with that.

With a soft and warm smile flitting around the edges of his mouth, Harry confidently approached Draco and stopped right in front of him. He reached out, wrapped his fingers around Draco’s wrist and pulled it free, gently forcing his husband to uncross his arms.

“I made myself the boss,” he said.

Harry purposefully kept his voice low and gentle, laced it with warmth and that husky undertone he knew had the power to melt any and all of Draco’s resolve to use his protective wall for self-preservation.

He didn’t expect it to work immediately, but all he needed was to slip through a tiny crack in Draco’s walls.

So far, that had always been enough.

Sooner or later, Draco crumbled.

In that regard, Harry knew his husband exceptionally well and trusted his instincts to be able to read and interpret his emotions accurately.

Draco’s eyebrow remained slightly raised, but he didn’t pull his hand away, was contend enough to allow Harry to keep a hold of it.

Harry considered it a small victory, though he wasn’t about to broadcast any of that.

With Draco, he had to play his cards right ― in the three decades since they’d first met, Harry had most definitely managed to work that one out.

“I see. Bringing your work home again, aren’t you, _Director_ Potter?” Draco asked, putting particular emphasis on his title. “Or is that just your hero complex kicking in? Salazar knows you’ve got a massive problem with that.”

Harry smirked.

He boldly held Draco’s gaze and took another step closer, making it so that there was barely any gap between them at all.

For a split-second, it looked like Draco might take a step back, but he didn’t.

He remained right where he was.

Harry triumphed inwardly.

Draco didn’t allow many people to crowd his personal space, and Harry was quite proud of the fact that Draco had never once pushed him away.

Granted, the fact that they were head over heels in love with each other helped, but still.

Harry rather liked the fact that he had a way of getting under Draco’s skin, that they were that close to each other. It was one of the reasons why their relationship worked and why, despite all their differences, they still somehow complimented each other. They each were a half, a missing piece of a jigsaw that, when put together, slotted into place perfectly and like it two magnets, unable to fight the force that pulled them together.

“Are you OK?”

Harry could tell that the question, his sudden change of topic, had somewhat thrown Draco. He visibly flailed for a moment, fervently searching for a way to answer the unexpected question.

Harry felt rather than saw the tension in his body but said nothing about it.

Draco furrowed his brow.

He blinked, then huffed out a breath of air and shook his head.

“No.”

It was nothing more than a whisper, but Harry didn’t need anymore.

He wordlessly pulled Draco into a hug, wrapped his arms around his husband and squeezed, holding him tight.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

Draco’s response was a muffled hum.

Harry felt through the fabric of his hoodie.

He squeezed Draco a little tighter and reassured him quietly.

“I’ve got you,” he said, lacing his words with confidence.

Draco pulled out of his hug and looked at him. There was a sort of weariness about him, Harry found worrying. He didn’t like it. Draco’s beautiful silvery-grey eyes had lost their shine.

The tension, Harry could feel so clearly, was written all over his face.

Draco’s skin was fair, but these days, and especially right now, it had a sickly grey hue to it, one Harry didn’t like, not even one bit, mainly because it reminded him of death and even though the war was over, and had been for the last twenty-two years, he’d seen enough death to last him a lifetime, and even a hint of it made him uncomfortable. Draco pressed his lips together and pulled them into a tight line. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on his face.

“The kids―” he murmured, then trailed off, unable to continue.

“Are safe at Hogwarts,” Harry said, finishing the sentence on Draco’s behalf.

“It’s fifteen times more fatal than dragon pox.”

Harry resisted the urge to smile. He wanted to, quite desperately, but he knew better than use witty sarcasm. It was the least Draco needed right this moment.

“Yes, if Skeeter has taught her successor anything it’s that it’s important to sensationalise facts. They sell papers. You know as well as I do that the Prophet has always been good at fear-mongering.”

Draco huffed out a breath of air.

Harry couldn’t tell whether he agreed or disagreed but noted the mild annoyance flittered across his face but didn’t linger.

Harry chanced his luck and appealed to Draco’s voice of reason. His husband was a very logical and rational person, though only when he wanted to be, or rather when he was calm enough to be pragmatic. However, given the current situation, Harry didn’t fault Draco for his slight lapse in clear-sightedness.

“The kids are safe, I promise, you can trust me. Scotland hasn’t reported any cases, and even if they do confirm a case, Muggle or magical creature, the castle is sealed. Nobody is getting in or out of there until it’s safe and they have enough resources to survive this strange outbreak. St. Mungo’s Hospital has an amazing team of Healers on-site to assist Poppy and ensure that everyone is healthy and well.”

Draco sighed in response.

“I want them home,” he said.

Harry nodded in silent acknowledgement.

“So do I, and we’ll have them home. _After_ we deal with this madness.”

“How much longer?”

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t have an answer for you, I’m sorry, Draco.”

“I’m going crazy, I need to go outside.”

Harry shook his head.

“It isn’t safe, but there’s something I can do for you which might improve your mood just a little, or at least I hope it will.”

With a smile, Harry wordlessly took Draco’s hands and lacing their fingers together, he pulled his husband out of the living room and down the entire length of the corridor. He wandlessly unlocked the door to a storage room that had once been a winter garden of sorts, but which they hardly ever used, and pushing the door opened, he pulled Draco through and used two more spells to unlock the door that led out into the small garden that belonged to Grimmauld Place.

As Harry pulled the door to the garden open, the hinges groaned, creaking in protest. Harry honestly couldn’t remember the last time he, Draco, or anyone else, and that included their children, had crossed the slightly raised threshold out into the small courtyard. As such, the wholly enclosed and unroofed patio didn’t look especially inviting.

The wards on the house ensured that the grass didn’t overgrow, but Harry had never bothered to weave any gardening-specific spells into the protective charms he’d cast upon the house after he and Draco spent nearly two years restoring the place to its former glory. Since the wards only took care of the most basic maintenance, the rose hedges had grown slightly out of control and despite January’s bitter cold temperatures, a few roses, clearly infused with magic from the house, still bloomed.

Harry shivered at the cold, but put a brave face on and tugging on his husband’s hand, he pulled him outside.

Once they both stood in the centre of the patio, Harry watched as Draco tilted his head skyward, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Harry felt some of the tension leave Draco’s body, and smiling to himself, he squeezed Draco’s hand. Draco reciprocated, but despite the lack of sunshine and the frosty nip in the air, he did not open his eyes or move his head. He simply stood in the cold and inhaled one deep breath after the other, filling his lungs with as much fresh air as he could.

The sight reminded Harry of a starving man, savouring every last bite of a sandwich, he’d been gifted by a kind person. Harry didn’t move. He made no attempt to distract Draco or urge him back inside.

Instead, he wandlessly cast a mild warming charm, and with a casual swish of his hand, he directed it to curl around Draco, engulfing him like a warm coat.

In direct response, Harry felt Draco relax even further and remaining silent, he gave his husband another few minutes to soak up as much fresh air as he wanted and needed.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed, but it had been long enough for him to stop consciously being aware of the cold. He was no longer shivering, and when Draco finally opened his eyes and looked at him, Harry mentally jumped with joy and punched the air triumphantly. Some of Draco’s spark had returned to his stunningly beautiful eyes, and he looked alive and thoroughly invigorated.

“Feeling better?”

Draco regarded him for a moment, then inclined his head in a wordless response. A small smile curled around the edges of his lips, and Harry leaned in and kissed Draco softly.

“We’ll take it, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute if we have to. We’ll get through this. I’m sorry I can’t take you outside for a proper walk. Believe me, I’d love nothing more than take you to a restaurant for a scrumptious meal, but we’ve got to get through this first.”

Draco nodded.

It was a careful gesture. Harry knew, from experience, that Draco didn't actually agree with him. He was merely acknowledging him, letting him know that he had been heard and that he, to an extent at least, made sense.

Harry smiled.

Draco took his other hand and squeezed tightly enough for Harry to wince, but despite the pain, which made Harry feel like his husband was intend on crushing his bones, he didn’t pull away.

“Promise me one thing, Potter.”

Draco’s voice was firm, demanding. There was no room for refusal.

Harry chuckled softly.

“What?” he asked.

“You don’t go out there until it’s safe!”

Harry sighed.

“Draco, you know I can’t promise you that. My position doesn’t allow for―”

“Potter, I don’t give a flying fuck. If you were God himself, I’d make you promise me the same thing, and promise me you will. You will not go out there until it’s safe. I will not lose you. This is non-negotiable. If you insist on keeping me locked up in here for my own safety, you will bloody keep me company until every single wall in every single room falls onto your head. You will stay away from any kind of danger. We’re stuck in the epicentre of the outbreak, and I’m not taking any chances. I cannot and will not lose you!”

For a moment, Harry wanted to argue. There was no way he could meet Draco’s demands. He was in charge of the entire DMLE and he couldn’t, in good conscience, ask his Auror and Auror Trainees to patrol the city and transport patients to St. Mungo’s Hospital while he stayed at home. It worked for a day, or two at the most, but if he took any more liberties, everyone in the department would rebel and refuse to do their job. The last thing he needed right now was mutiny. He required complete obedience, and a bunch of people he could rely on upon, without having to worry that they would start to question his crisis management decisions. Until this nightmare was over and some sense of normalcy had been restored there simply was no other way.

 _Pick your battles_ , Harry reminded himself and instead of having it out with Draco and taking the risk of watching his husband storm off in a huff, he merely inclined his head.

“I’ll work something out,” he said, opting for a somewhat Slytherinesque response.

He knew that Draco knew precisely what this meant. He hadn’t actually promised Draco anything, hadn’t outright agreed to remain in the house at all times, but it still seemed to appease Draco, who nodded and silently allowed Harry to pull him into a hug. They remained outside in the cold for a few more minutes, then Harry offered to make Draco a cup of coffee and raid the pantry for biscuits, and Draco jumped at the suggestion.

Without letting go of his husband’s hand, Harry pulled him back indoors, closed the door to the courtyard behind them, and together they headed into the general direction of the kitchen, descending a short flight of stairs. Once inside the cosy room, Harry pressed his lips against Draco’s and kissed him softly.

“Go sit, I’ll get everything ready.”

Draco smiled.

“Despite all your faults, Potter, you are a good husband, I’ll admit that much.”

Harry grinned.

“Of course, I am, I just show it bursts. I’d hate for you to get used to it and find yourself bored of my company.”

Draco laughed.

It was a proper laugh; the kind that made his eyes dance.

“Trust me, Potter, I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of you.”

Harry smiled.

“That’s good to know, Malfoy, because I wouldn’t know what to do if you’d ever left me.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Sap,” he said while he walked over to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

Harry shrugged.

“I’ll take that,” he said.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an attempt to cope with recent events. Having your life turned completely upside down isn't exactly the nicest experience and after nearly two weeks of living in fear and panic, with one anxiety attack after the other, I am finally starting to feel safe again. I would like to thank my wonderful future wife, my brother, the German authorities, the DRK and my friends and family, who have been nothing but supportive during this difficult time. A lot is still unknown but at least my beloved Coffee Bean and I are safe and in two weeks we'll hopefully be ready to start the rest of our lives, together.


End file.
